


The Space in Between

by perfect_plan



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Coma, Hospital, M/M, Magical Realism, Mentions of Character Death, Shared Dreaming, mentions of illness/accident
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-26
Updated: 2017-02-26
Packaged: 2018-09-27 04:12:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9961100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perfect_plan/pseuds/perfect_plan
Summary: Steve Rogers is in a coma after being hit by a car. He's also trapped in some kind of Limbo, not dead but not quite alive. Can you dream in a coma? And if so, how can the guy he meets in there seem so real?





	

Steve stared down at himself in the hospital bed. It was so weird; he was  _ here _ but then he was  _ there _ too, bruised and battered, almost unrecognisable to himself, the steady beep from the EKG the only sound in the room.

_ I look so small _ , he thought. He didn't look 6'2 in the bed but then he'd never seen himself like this. In a mirror, sure. But this wasn't a mirror. He held up a hand; he wasn't transparent so he thought that maybe he wasn't a ghost. He certainly wasn't dead - he could see his heart rate on the monitor next to his bed as proof of that. He didn't quite  _ feel _ dead either. Steve was surprised at how calm he felt. He'd been knocked clear out of his body and was here, in a hospital bed. He vaguely remembered crossing the street to go to the art store and then...he didn't know.

_ Was I hit by a car? _

The door to his room opened and a nurse walked in. She didn't spare Steve a glance. Well, the Steve that was standing by the bed at any rate. She took a lot of care with the Steve in the bed: Checking his monitors, changing his IV drip.

"Hello?" Steve asked.

The nurse didn't give any indication that she had heard him but then why would she; technically, he was, what, in a coma? Steve watched as she exited the room and he was left alone with himself again.

He tried to touch the end of the bed. He could sense that he was he touching it but it didn't feel like anything, just a solid mass beneath his hand. He walked around the room, touching things: the sink in the corner, the chair, the IV stand and it all felt the same; just a strange dull weight. He couldn't quite bear to touch his (sleeping?) body.

Steve looked around, unsure of what he was meant to do.

He walked over to the door of the small private room and pushed it, testing. He really hoped he wasn't trapped in here. The door didn't shift but a second later, he was out in the corridor.

"What the..." he said and looked down at himself. He had no memory of going through the door but here he was. He realized that he was wearing the clothes he'd last worn before whatever had happened to him had happened; a red t-shirt and a pair of jeans and sneakers.

He felt like he should be afraid but he wasn't. A strange calmness enveloped him. He watched the people walking by him in the corridor. Nobody looked at him; he tried touching people as they passed him - a tap on the shoulder, a pat of the head - but not a single person reacted to him.

Steve started to walk through the corridors of the hospital, through wards, peering into operating theatres that were being prepped, the canteen. He hopped into a lift and followed a group of student doctors as they did their rounds. He took the elevator down to the ground floor and wondered if he could go outside. He walked through the reception area to the main hospital entrance but something strange happened. With each step he took towards the door, he slowed down. It was like his body was wading through treacle the closer he got to the entrance. He came to a standstill.

"I can't leave," he whispered and turned around, suddenly wanting to be close to his body again.

Steve made his way back up to his floor, back to his room and entered it. He was still in the bed, eyes closed, black and blue. He stared down at himself for a little while and then sat down in the single chair in the corner of the room and remained there until it grew dark outside.

***

The next day, Clint showed up.

He was shown into Steve's room by one of the nurses that took care of him. His face fell when he saw Steve in the hospital bed.

"Oh my god," Clint said and stumbled into the room slightly. "Oh, Steve."

Steve felt a lump in his throat. Clint was his closest friend. He had no family; he never knew his father and his mom had died three years ago. Clint was like a brother to him. Clint sat heavily in the chair next to Steve's bed and took his hand gently. Steve glanced down at his own hand; he couldn't feel anything.

"I'm so sorry, buddy," Clint said, his voice breaking. "I'm so sorry. I didn't have signal at the cabin and I - " He choked back a sob and then looked at the nurse. "Is there a chance he could wake up?"

The nurse's face remained neutral. "He sustained a very serious head injury and with trauma like that, it's hard to say. He may wake up tomorrow, he may wake up five years from now."

Clint's jaw hardened and his hand tightened around Steve's. "Or he may never wake up."

"You have to prepare yourself for that possibility," the nurse said, her voice a little softer. "I'm sorry."

She left the room and Clint burst into tears. "Oh, Steve," he wept.

Steve walked over to him and put his hand on Clint's shoulder. "I'm here," he said to his friend.

***

A week went by and Steve wandered the corridors of the hospital like a ghost. He watched people and listened to them mostly. There wasn't much else to do. He was always wearing the same clothes. He didn't sleep but he wasn't tired. Well, technically he was already asleep. Was he a dream? This played on Steve's mind constantly. Was he a dream of himself? Or was the Steve in the bed dreaming of something else? He didn't feel like a dream. The days passed but time was irrelevant.

Clint came to visit him. Sometimes he turned on the TV and joked along to the shows and ads, as he did when they had watched TV together before. Sometimes he just sat quietly, reading or playing music on his phone. He always took Steve's hand before he left, holding it for a few moments before leaving. Steve always stayed with him, willing himself to wake up. It never worked.

Then suddenly, there was someone else.

Steve had been down in the canteen, watching people eat lasagne and jello (he didn't feel hunger). He listened to people as they talked; worried families, busy doctors, people waiting for news good or bad.

He decided to head back to is room. It was a strange thing; the longer he was away from the his body, the stronger the feeling became that he had to return to it. It was like he was tethered somehow. He wondered if this was what having a soul meant. Steve was technically a Catholic but he had lapsed long ago, before his mother had died even. Since then, he wasn't really anything. He guessed he was maybe agnostic but he didn't seek out any answers either way for himself.

As he walked back towards his private room, doctors and nurses ignored him, patients didn't notice him. Steve almost dismissed the guy ahead of him as a visitor but realized with a start that the man with the long brown hair was staring right at him. Steve stopped in the middle of the corridor. The guy was down by the vending machines; he looked to be Steve's age, wearing a grey t-shirt and jeans. He was barefoot. He watched Steve with pale blue eyes, calm and curious. Behind Steve's shock that there was someone else here with him, there was the slightest feeling of déjà vu when he looked at the man but it was gone as quickly as it had come.

"Hello?" Steve ventured.

"Hello," the guy answered.

Steve walked slowly towards him. "You can see me?"

"Yes," the guy said. "I thought I was the only one. Like this, I mean." He looked relieved.

"What's happening to us? Do you know what this is?" Steve asked.

The guy shook his head. "No."

Steve's shoulders slumped. "Oh."

The guy pushed his hair from his face. "You're in here? As a patient?"

Steve nodded and pointed to the door of his room. "I'm in a coma. I think I was hit by a car."

The guy just nodded back in agreement, like what Steve was saying wasn't just a little bit strange. "How long have you been - " He waved a hand a Steve.  _ Like a ghost _ , Steve supposed he meant.

"A couple of weeks almost."

"Me too. I'm Bucky."

"Steve."

"Can I look at you? The sleeping you, I mean," Bucky asked.

Steve walked through the door to his room and Bucky followed him. Steve stood over by the sink and watched Bucky closely as he stared down at Steve's broken body. He stayed like that for a long time.

"Where are you?" Steve spoke into the silence finally. "What happened to you?"

Bucky blinked and looked up. "I don't know." He frowned, thinking. "I was just out walking my dog. Then I was here. But I'm not  _ here _ ."

"You're not in this hospital?"

"No," Bucky said. "I've searched every floor and room and I'm not here anywhere."

Steve crossed his arms. "I can't leave. I try to walk through the entrance downstairs but it's like I'm being pulled back. Like a magnet or something. How is it different for you?"

Bucky shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine. I don't know the rules of Limbo."

For some reason, that sent a shiver up Steve's spine. "You think we're in Limbo?"

"Well, what else would you call this?" Bucky said. "We're not dead and we're not quite alive. At least, I assume I'm in a state like this somewhere." He nodded down to Steve's body. "Why I'm  _ here _ and not with my own body, I have no idea."

Steve was quiet for a moment as he digested this information.  _ Limbo _ . For some reason, that word scared him more than anything. Being permanently stuck here wasn't something he wanted to think about.

"You're absolutely sure you're not in this hospital?" Steve asked.

Bucky turned away from Steve's sleeping body. "Pretty sure but it couldn't help to double-check. Want to go exploring?"

And that was how Steve was no longer alone.

***

They searched every inch of the hospital from the lowest basement level to the roof. They had the time, more time than they could possibly want. Steve wondered if Bucky was in a coma too somewhere; in that same strange sleep that Steve was in. Maybe Bucky was part of his dream, if this was one. He must have had a strange look on his face because when Bucky came out of yet another room he paused.

"What's wrong?" he asked. "I mean aside from the obvious."

"What if you're just part of this crazy dream I'm having?"

Bucky chuffed. "What makes you think I'm part of  _ your _ dream? Maybe you're part of mine."

Steve frowned. "I don't feel like anyone's dream."

"Well, neither do I," Bucky said. "Want me to pinch you to see if you'll wake up?" He leaned over and pinched Steve.

Whereas before any contact with anyone or anything just felt like dull weight, something sharp crackled between them both when Bucky pinched Steve, like a static electric shock. They both gasped and jumped. Steve was hit with that same strange feeling of déjà vu he'd had when he first met Bucky and by the confused look on Bucky's face, he'd had the same.

"What the hell..." Bucky said and reached out to touch Steve again.

This time, the shock was lighter and faded into a pleasant warmth. Steve suddenly realized how much he had missed human contact and grasped Bucky's hand. He quickly let go when he saw how surprised Bucky was.

"I'm sorry," Steve said quickly. "I...we don't know each other do we? I mean, we haven't met before?"

Bucky shook his head slowly. "No but...I know what you mean. I feel like I know you somehow."

They stood together in the quiet corridor, each of them struggling to place the other.

Steve ran a hand through his hair. "Come on. We have a few more floors to check." He started to walk and heard the gently  _ slap slap _ of Bucky's bare feet on the hospital floor behind him.

There was a strange feeling in Steve's chest. Like he'd found something he had lost but was desperately trying to figure out what it was he had lost in the first place.

***

They ended up on the roof after searching the whole hospital. Bucky was right. He wasn't here.

It was late evening on a July night and the sky was starting to turn a rich deep blue. The sun made a red slash on the horizon and they could both hear the city below. There was a light breeze up here. Steve couldn't feel it but his hair ruffled and so did Bucky's.

"This is really weird," Bucky said. "Why isn't my body here?"

"I don't know," Steve said. The more things that happened to him here (Here? Limbo?), the less he knew. "At least we're not alone, I guess."

Bucky glanced over at him and smirked. "I don't know anything about you except your name. And only your first one at that."

Steve walked over to the edge of the roof and sat down, swinging his legs over the lip. He wasn't scared. He could feel that strange magnetic pull back to himself, even from here. He wouldn't fall. Even if he did, what would happen? His physical body was already broken. "So let's talk. We've got the time."

Bucky came and sat down next to him. He didn't seem worried about falling off of the roof either and lazily swung his legs back and forth. "My name is James Barnes but I've been called Bucky more than I've ever been called James. I work in construction but I quit just before whatever happened to me happened. I needed to re-evaluate things. Hell of a way to do that."

"I'm sorry," Steve said. "This all sucks."

Bucky nodded. "It sure does. I was due to meet up with Tony Stark about a possible job the next day. It may not have been anything but it could have been something." He sighed.

Steve knew who Tony Stark was and what getting a job with him could mean. "Maybe he'll still want to meet with you. After..." Steve trailed off.

Bucky chuffed a little. "Yeah. Talk about you."

"My name is Steve Rogers. I design book covers, mainly the kind of crime thrillers you buy for long flights but I've been getting more contemporary fiction lately." He stopped, aware that he was rambling a little but Bucky seemed interested. Whether he genuinely was or whether it was just because Steve was the only person he could actually talk to remained to be seen. "I was on my way to the art store and I think...I think I was hit by a car."

Bucky was silent for a moment. "I think I was too."

"What makes you think that?"

Bucky swung his legs up and held them pointing straight out. They rested on the horizon. "Whatever happened to me was enough to knock me out of my shoes."

Nausea swam in Steve's throat at that; he hadn't really given much thought to the reason why Bucky was barefoot. At least he could see the physical damage that had been done to himself - the proof was down on the fourth floor. Who knew what kind of state Bucky was lying in wherever he was.

"Jeez," Steve breathed and he suddenly wanted to cry.

"It's okay. I mean, I figure it is. I'm not dead so there's hope, right?" Bucky looked up at the stars that had started to twinkle to life.

"Yeah," Steve said softly.

They sat on the roof and watched the night set in.

***

They spent every moment together after that. They watched as Steve's body was taken care of. Clint hadn't come back since that first visit; he had to go away for work. He had apologized to Steve and held his hand and cried but promised to call the hospital every day for updates. Steve didn't resent him at all; he knew that if Clint could have, he would stay with him but Clint had a life too and had bills to pay. That was another things that made Steve feel sick: His hospital bills. The longer he was in a coma, the more they were piling up.

_ Who knows _ , he thought bitterly.  _ Maybe I won't ever wake up and have to pay them. _

Steve enjoyed Bucky's company; he was dry and funny and Steve realized he needed that; this whole situation needed humor and Bucky had it. Steve could also talk to him though; Bucky was a good listener and he seemed to care. He talked openly and honestly and Steve reciprocated too, listening and wishing that Bucky knew where he was and why he was here with Steve instead.

He often spent time staring down at Steve's prone body with a sense of longing; he always had a thoughtful expression on his face and more often than not, a hint of sadness would flash across it. When this happened, he would say, "Let's go to the roof," and they would sit on the edge and dangle their legs and talk and talk and talk.

They hadn't touched each other again since that first time and Steve wanted to, almost desperately; to feel that strange tingle and the warmth he had felt. He wasn't cold and he wasn't hot for the most part. He couldn't feel the wind or the rain when they were on the roof. He couldn't smell the clinical antiseptic smell of the hospital, which he was grateful for.

But he had felt Bucky. He wanted more than anything to feel that again but Bucky never made a move to touch Steve, so Steve didn't either. It made him ache.

They didn't feel hunger or thirst. They didn't sleep. They just existed in this strange in-between. They only had each other.

***

"You did not," Steve laughed.

Bucky held up a hand in a mock boy scout salute. "I did. I swear, I absolutely did."

"Come on," Steve said. "That only ever happens in movies. That never happens in real life."

"Steve, it totally happened. My friend Nat will attest to it."

Steve leaned back against the wall of the roof and laughed again. "You locked yourself out of your apartment naked and climbed up the drainpipe to get back in and got arrested."

"The cop standing underneath me as I held onto that pipe got to see everything, front to back," Bucky said and grinned when Steve dissolved into more laughter. He liked to make Steve laugh.

"Oh my god," Steve said. "Wow."

"You know what's even funnier?" Bucky said.

"Should I ask?"

"The cop asked me out after I'd been booked and released."

"What?! Did you say yes?"

"I considered it for about two seconds and politely declined. Call me old-fashioned, but I'd rather someone asked me out  _ not _ based on seeing my undercarriage."

Steve fell over sideways onto the hard surface of the roof and laughed.  _ "Undercarriage," _ he managed to say and Bucky started to laugh too. It was difficult to believe that they weren't just two friends hanging out.

Steve straightened himself him and sat next to Bucky, his laughter subsiding until he was just happy and smiling. He looked at Bucky. He was smiling back at Steve, his eyes bright.

"I'm glad you're not my dream," Steve said.

Bucky's face suddenly fell and he looked away.

"Bucky, what - "

But Bucky jumped up and ran across the rooftop to the door and was gone.

Steve scrambled to his feet. What had he done? He had hurt Bucky somehow and he had no idea why and how to make it right. He ran to the access door.

"Bucky wait, please!" he called down the stairwell but Bucky was gone.

Steve ran down the stairs and to the top floor. He looked around the busy corridor. Bucky wasn't anywhere in sight. Steve grabbed at his hair. He couldn't be on his own again. He just couldn't. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he opened his eyes, he knew where to go.

Bucky was standing over Steve in his bed when Steve got back to his room, his long hair falling into his face.

"Buck?" Steve asked tentatively. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to - "

"No, it wasn't you," Bucky said and his voice was choked. He gripped the edge of Steve's bed. "I just...what's happened to me? I hate not knowing. It might be really bad. What if...what if I'm..." He started to cry. "Why am I here?"

Steve walked over to him and put both hands gently on Bucky's shoulders. Again, there was that  _ crackle _ of connection between them and that amazing warmth and Bucky gasped and turned, not moving from under Steve's touch. His cheeks were streaked with tears and his eyes searched Steve's.

"You'll be okay," Steve said. "I just...I feel it. You're here with me for a reason. You have to be."

"But why?" Bucky asked, his voice barely a whisper and he clutched at Steve's t-shirt.

"I don't know," Steve said and he put his arms around Bucky and the warmth turned into an all-encompassing sensation of happiness and safety and something bigger than themselves.

Bucky sighed and held Steve tighter. "I don't know what this is. What this all means," he said, his face buried in Steve's shoulder.

"Me neither," Steve whispered.

***

Things changed for them after that: They touched more and stayed close. They spent more time up on the roof of the hospital. It was like they both felt that pull toward Steve's physical body when they were away too long and had to return often. It was confusing but also comforting in a way.

One day they were on the roof, sitting close together and talking. They talked about everything now and started to know each other better. Bucky had no family, like Steve. His parents and sister had died when he was very young and he had been fostered throughout his life. His best friend was called Natasha and he had met her when he was thirteen in one of his foster homes. He was worried about her and missed her terribly.

"I know that wherever I am, she's with me. She won't leave me on my own and that's some comfort."

"You're lucky," Steve said. "My best friend is away working but I know he's worried about me. I...I don't really have anyone else."

Bucky's face softened; Steve had told him about his mom. "You have me," he said and smiled.

Steve smiled back a little sadly and took Bucky's hand. "I wish we could have met anywhere but here. I hate hospitals."

Bucky squeezed his hand. "Does anyone like them?"

"Good point," Steve said. "I spent so much time in them as a kid and when my mom got sick. Now this." He shook his head.

"You got sick a lot when you were younger?" Bucky asked.

Steve rested his head on the low ledge of the room and studied the sky. It was a sunny day but windy; clouds moved across the sky, changing shape and becoming new things every minute. "I was always tall and healthy looking but my heart was never quite right. I was on a lot of medication through elementary school but it was always important that I stayed active to a degree. I was really into sports; baseball, football, tennis. I collapsed during a football game when I was fifteen and had to have emergency open-heart surgery. Missed a lot of school. I had to work hard to keep up so I wasn't held back."

"God, I'm so sorry," Bucky said.

Steve rubbed at his chest, where his scar was underneath his t-shirt. "I see the scar every day and I never not think about it, you know? I'm happy now - I'll never play football again but...it's always there."

Bucky reached out and placed his hand over Steve's on his chest. There was another crackle of energy between them.

"Do you want to see?" Steve asked.

Bucky nodded and watched as Steve took off his t-shirt. The scar ran down Steve's chest and there was a strange puckered mark in the centre, almost star-shaped, white and raised. The doctors had no idea what had caused the marking. His mom had called him her Little Star after that. He would have hated the scarring if not for her.

Bucky was staring at the scar with a bemused expression, laced with fear. "This...this isn't possible..." he muttered.

"What is it?" Steve asked, alarmed.

Bucky met his eyes. "When I was fifteen I was going through...a rough patch and me and one of the kids I lived with stole a car and went on a joyride. We crashed and the car rolled. Brock was fine but I was trapped and pinned by my arm." Bucky slowly lifted the sleeve of his t-shirt on his left arm and Steve sucked in a breath.

On Bucky's upper arm was a scar, raised and white, in the shape of a star. It was almost identical to Steve's. He raised his hand slowly and touched it, tracing the scar with his finger. "I was in surgery for hours. I almost lost it."

"Oh my god," Steve whispered and looked at Bucky helplessly. This all  _ meant _ something. "Bucky..."

Before he could say anything else, Bucky leaned in and kissed him and Steve immediately kissed him back. He could feel that strange energy between them again and it overwhelmed him. Bucky was  _ real _ and he was out there somewhere, in a hospital bed like Steve was. He wasn't a dream and Steve wasn't his; they were connected somehow, out in the real world and had somehow found each other here.

"Steve, I don't want to wake up," Bucky gasped and held Steve's face with both hands. "I want to stay here with you."

That was all Steve wanted too in that moment. "Me too. God, me too..." He kissed Bucky again and they lay on the roof, wrapped together and connected.

***

Summer turned to Autumn and Steve's body still slept. His bruises had faded, the broken bones were setting but he remained as he was. He and Bucky didn't spent much time in Steve's hospital room anymore. They stayed close but it seemed as though the two of them didn't want to face the reality of their situation any more. Limbo was easy: there was no pain, no bills, no awkwardness. They could do what they wanted and they mostly stayed on the roof, talking and kissing and staring at each other, fingers brushing through hair, wondering how they had found each other and why.

Steve was happy. In life, he had been at ease but not happy. He had been lacking something and he now knew what it was.

"What are you thinking about?" Bucky asked him. They were lying side by side under a blue sky. The occasional brown leaf blown on the breeze was the only indication that any time had passed for them.

"You," Steve said and kissed Bucky softly. "How gorgeous you are. How much you make me laugh."

Bucky smiled and pulled Steve closer. "I could stay here forever. I wouldn't need anything else."

Steve tucked Bucky's hair behind his ear. "What would you say if I told you that I think I'm falling in love with you?"

Bucky bit his lip. "I would say that I think I'm falling in love with you too." He blinked back tears. "I've never felt this way before," he whispered.

Steve kissed him slowly and deeply and Bucky gasped because that strange electricity that seemed to generate between the two of them crackled stronger.

"Bucky - " Steve began but then he froze. His eyes widened.

Bucky sat up. "Steve? Steve, what is it?"

Steve sucked in his breath sharply. Something was happening to him. There was a tightness in his chest that was spreading into his stomach, down into his legs. "I don't know...something..."

Suddenly his body jerked as if he'd been punched. He cried out and curled up on the ground.

"Steve, what's happening?" Bucky said, panic in his voice.

"Oh my god," Steve whispered. "I'm waking up." He clutched onto Bucky. "Don't let me go, Buck. I don't want to go!"

Bucky held him tight. "I've got you, Stevie. I've - "

But Steve was suddenly yanked from Bucky's arms and started to slide along the ground. He screamed and clawed at the concrete of the rooftop, trying to get a grip on something, anything but it was no use.

Bucky jumped up and ran after him. "Steve!"

Steve was moving faster, being pulled by an invisible forced back down to the room where his body lay. He cried out for Bucky, could see him running after him through the hospital, along each corridor, down each flight of stairs but he was always just out of reach.

He was being pulled down the corridor towards his room now and he started to cry, sobbing for Bucky. "Bucky, please don't leave me! Please!"

Bucky was crying too as he ran. "I love you, Steve! I - "

Steve blacked out.

***

He could hear voices and opened his eyes. They felt like they were full of sand.

"Holy shit," said a voice and Steve blinked until he could see.

His vision was blurry but there was a doctor and several medical students at the foot of his bed, all wearing identical looks of shock and disbelief on their faces. 

"He's awake," the same voice said and it belonged to a guy with dark hair and glasses. He looked across to the resident taking the students on his rounds. "What do we do?"

The resident slammed his palm against the emergency call button on the wall and they all stood and waited, staring down at Steve.

Steve licked his lips. His mouth was dry and he could feel tears welling in his eyes, washing away the grit. "Where's Bucky?" he asked, his voice thick and cracked.

"Who the hell is Bucky?" the student with the dark hair and glasses said and Steve started to sob.

***

Steve slowly came back to himself. His body felt heavy. He got tired easily. He hated the hospital.

Was Bucky here watching him, still trapped in Limbo?

"Bucky, if you're here, I love you," Steve said into his empty room.

The doctors came and talked to him. He had been hit by a car but he would walk again which was good. He didn't look to be suffering any head trauma which was good. Everything was good. Good good good. He nodded and smiled and thanked them and wanted more than anything to back with Bucky.

Bucky.

Everything was starting to feel more like a dream but Steve refused to believe it was. Bucky had been  _ real _ . He  _ was _ real. He was out there somewhere.

The third day after he had awoken, Clint came by. There was a hasty knock on his door and before he could say anything, Clint burst in. He froze when he saw Steve.

Steve smiled wanly. "Hey Clint."

Clint threw himself at Steve and hugged him, mindful still of Steve's injuries. "Steve. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Steve wrapped his arms around Clint. "Why are you sorry?"

Clint pulled away and he looked guilty. "Because I wasn't here."

"There's nothing for you to be sorry for," Steve said and pulled Clint back in. He thought about Bucky. "I wasn't alone."

***

Steve's recovery was slow; he could walk but it took a lot out of him. He was tired all the time. If he did too much like read for more than half an hour or watched TV, his eyes would start to blur and he would have a bad headache for a couple of hours afterwards.

"It's going to take time," the doctor said. "You're recovering from a serious injury."

Steve knew that but he felt like he might never be the same again; his body was different, he was struggling to readjust. He was worried about the hospital bills.

He missed Bucky.

"You'll get there, buddy," Clint said during visiting hours. "I'll be here for you."

Steve was grateful for Clint; he was a good friend. "Thanks man."

He was released from the hospital three weeks after he had woken and as Clint drove him back to his apartment, decided to do everything in his power to find Bucky.

***

Steve closed his laptop in frustration and buried his face in his hands. It was hopeless. Just fucking hopeless. He had been searching for two weeks for any sign that Bucky was real and  _ nothing _ . Not a goddamned thing. He had tried every social networking site, Google, even three of those family tree sites and there was nothing. He had tried James Barnes and Bucky Barnes and there was nothing. He didn't exist.

Steve tried to stop the tears and took a few noisy breaths.  _ But he had felt real _ . He had had dreams since and he knew the difference; the places felt like dreams, the people did too. Where he and Bucky had been hadn't felt like a dream. What they had felt for each other hadn't been a dream. It just  _ hadn't. _

"Where are you?" Steve called out into the silence of his apartment.

***

He tried going back to the hospital. He went up to the roof. It was the same but of course, Bucky wasn't there. Steve hadn't expected to find him but he had been hoping that there was some indication that he wasn't losing his mind. He went to the edge of the roof and stared at the horizon. Nothing was the same anymore.

He hung out with Clint and tried to act the same as he always did. He listened to Clint talk excitedly about a girl he had met and was considering asking out, wanting to be happy for him but his mind was always on Bucky.

He felt like he was living half of a life at the moment and he had no idea where the other half was.

***

"Steve, I need to talk to you," Clint said one evening. They were at Clint's apartment eating pizza and watching movies. Lucky, Clint's dog, waited patiently for Steve to drop him his pizza crusts.

Steve swallowed his mouthful and turned to Clint. This couldn't be good; Clint was sitting with his hands on his knees, the way he did when he was nervous. This had to be serious then.

"Why do I feel like this is about to lead to some kind of intervention?" he joked.

Clint didn't smile. "I'm worried about you."

Steve picked up his beer. It had been five months since he had woken up from his coma and he still couldn't stop thinking about Bucky. He clung to the hazy memory of him like a drowning man seeking air. He slept more than he ever had before, partly because he always seemed to be tired and partly because he hoped that Bucky might still show up  _ (but he isn't a dream) _ . He knew he was depressed; the accident had disrupted his life and he couldn't quite get a hold of it again. His work was suffering, he had hospital bills hanging over him.

"I'm doing better," he said, not meeting Clint's eyes and taking a drink. "I'm walking properly again, I don't get headaches anymore. There's nothing to worry about."

"Bullshit," Clint said softly. "You sleep most of the day. You're withdrawn."

Steve put his beer bottle down on the table a little harder than he'd intended. "I was hit by a car. I was in a coma. How am I meant to act?" he said and stood up.

"Come on, man; don't get defensive. Have you talked to anyone?"

"I'm talking to you right now."

Clint frowned. "You know what I mean, Steve. You need to talk to someone about this."

"I talked to a counsellor at the hospital."

"Three times. Have you spoken to anyone since you've been home?"

Steve stared at Clint's bookshelf. "It won't make a difference."

Clint walked over to him and put a hand on Steve's shoulder. "Steve, you nearly died and that's got to be...you can't hold all of this in an pretend to be okay when you're obviously not. You can bullshit everyone else but you can't bullshit me."

Steve hunched in on himself. "You wouldn't understand," he said quietly.

Clint turned Steve to face him and his eyes were honest and kind. "Try me."

Steve had nothing to lose by telling Clint and he was right: He wasn't okay. He nodded and they sat down together on the couch. Clint waited patiently for Steve to talk.

"I was...somewhere in my coma. I was in the hospital but it was like I was a ghost; I could see everyone but no-one could see me. I was alone and then one day, there was this guy there and he was like me. We could see each and talk and touch each other and he..." Steve swallowed. "We were in love. And then I woke up and he was gone." Saying it aloud sounded hollow almost.

Clint's face was sympathetic. "You dreamed in your coma?"

Steve closed his eyes. "No, no. It...it wasn't a dream. It was  _ real _ . He was  _ there _ with me and I think he's alive and somewhere but I can't find him. I've been trying and it's like..." He floundered and opened his eyes. He couldn't explain exactly how he was feeling.

"Like he was a dream?" Clint said softly. "Steve, you were out for the count. Your brain was obviously trying to deal as best it could."

"But it wasn't a dream! It felt...it was  _ real _ . We were there together. I don't know how but..." he trailed off. "You don't believe me."

Clint rubbed a hand through his short sandy hair. "I believe you  _ thought _ it was real but...come on, Steve. You can't hang on to a fantasy; this is real life. You need to talk to someone, a professional to - "

"It won't help!" Steve cried and jumped up. "I can't just forget him. I can't explain it but I'm alive because of him! He's out there and I need to find him."

"Steve, please just - "

"No, Clint. Bucky was real. He was  _ real _ ."

Clint jerked a little and went pale, his eyes widening.

Steve stiffened. "What? Clint, what's wrong?"

"What...what did you just say? The name you just said."

"Bucky." Steve's skin prickled.

"The guy in your dream was called Bucky," Clint said flatly.

"Yes. Well, his real name is James but he said he'd been called Bucky more than he'd ever been called James."

At that, Clint put his head in his hands. "I need a sec."

Steve dropped back down next to Clint. "What? Clint, come on, tell me!"

Clint looked up at him. "If you're fucking with me right now it's not funny, okay?"

"When have I ever fucked with you?" Steve asked, hurt.

Clint was quiet for a long time; he knew Steve and when he was messing with him. When he spoke again, his voice was careful. "The girl I've been seeing...she has a friend called Bucky."

Steve sucked in a breath.

"His name is James. His real name."

Steve started to shake. "Natasha?"

Clint nodded slowly, like he knew that Steve would say that. "I never told you her name."

"Because until you kiss a girl you like, you think it's bad luck to say too much about her," Steve said.

Clint chewed on his lip. "I don't know much about him - we haven't been seeing each other that long, me and Nat but..." Realization dawned on his face. "Holy shit," he whispered.

Steve's heart was pounding. Hope was flooding back through him, bringing him back to life. "Something happened to him, didn't it? Around the same time as my accident."

"This isn't possible," Clint muttered. He looked terrified.

"Clint, please," Steve said.

"He was out walking his dog and was hit by a bus."

Steve swallowed. "He was in a coma."

Clint wrung his hands together. "I don't know for sure. Natasha just said he'd been in a critical condition. As far as I know, he's doing pretty well now."

Steve stifled a sob and fell back onto the couch. Bucky was alive. He was  _ alive _ . He  _ existed. _ All of this time that Steve had been searching for him and he had practically been under his nose.

They were both quiet for a long time.

"Steve, I don't know what's going on but...this is for real. You're not shitting me."

Steve wiped his eyes and shook his head. "We were together."

Clint slowly got to his feet and paced the living room. "Fuck," he mumbled. Lucky watched him curiously. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and stared at it. "This is crazy," he said. "Things like this don't just happen."

Steve smiled thinly. "You think I don't know that? Lapsed Catholic here."

Clint started to scroll through his phone. "I can't believe I'm doing this," he mumbled. "I'll be lucky - sorry dog, not you - if Natasha wants to go on another date after this."

"What are you doing?" Steve asked.

"Getting you to your boy."

Steve swallowed thickly. "Thank you," he whispered.

"I want you to be happy, man. I love you." He held his phone to his ear. "Here we go."

***

Steve waited on the bench in Prospect Park. He was more scared than he'd ever been in his entire life. He closed his eyes and took some slow, deep breaths. He listened to the birds, the sounds of the kids playing soccer. He concentrated on how warm the sun was on his face. He focused completely on how he was here and alive in this moment.

"Steve?"

Steve's eyes snapped open at the voice and he turned. Bucky was standing a few metres away from the bench where Steve was sitting. He was here. He looked exactly as he had looked back at the hospital. His hair was the same chestnut brown. He looked a little thinner and he looked tired and as terrified as Steve but he was  _ here _ .

Steve stood up slowly. "Bucky?" He was struck yet again by the intense feeling of déjà vu.

Bucky exhaled. "You sound the same."

"You look great," Steve said.

Bucky huffed and looked away. "Haven't really slept the last five months. I guess that's what being in a coma does to you."

"So you were in a coma? Like I was?"

Bucky looked back at him. "Yeah. From what I hear, we were both under at the same time." He finally walked over and sat on the bench. He kept his distance a little and while Steve was hurt by Bucky's caution, he understood. How were they supposed to pick up where they had left off in Limbo? Would Bucky still want him? Steve knew that his own feelings remained the same.

"I can't believe you're really here," Steve said softly.

Something in Bucky finally snapped then; whatever restraint he had been holding himself under. "I can't believe  _ any _ of this, Steve. What are we supposed to do now? Just...how is all of this possible? It's like one giant...I - I don't know, a cosmic coincidence or something. We're together in a fucking  _ dream _ or something, we wake up at the same time and our best friends somehow meet and start dating and...and..." He flailed a little helplessly. "What does this all mean?"

"I think I know. It might sound a little...crazy."

Bucky barked out a laugh. "I think we're beyond that, don't you?"

Steve smiled. "I guess." He gazed up at the sky. It was an overcast day but the occasional patch of blue broke through the cloud cover. "The first time I saw you in the hospital, I had this incredible feeling that I'd met you before, that I knew you somehow. I think...I think I might have died if you hadn't have been at the hospital. I think you saved me." He glanced at Bucky.

Bucky's face was a jumble of emotion. "But...why? I'm nothing special. Why would I appear at a completely different hospital to save a guy I'd never met before?"

"I think we're connected. I think we were destined to meet. We have the same scar. I'm sure that if we both hadn't been in an accident, we would have met through Clint and Nat anyway."

Bucky scrubbed a hand through his hair. "I had that feeling too, like I'd met you before." He looked up at Steve and there was trepidation in his eyes. "I've thought about you every day. Every fucking day."

"Me too," Steve said and he reached out to take Bucky's hand. There wasn't that strange static charge that had happened every time they had touched in their comas but there was a strong wave of... _ coming home _ . That was all Steve could think to describe it as. It was as if his body knew Bucky's touch. "You are special, Bucky Barnes."

Bucky must have felt it too because he gasped. "I didn't want to believe that you were real because I couldn't bear the thought of it if you weren't."

Steve gently kissed Bucky's hand. "I'm real."

And then Bucky's lips were on his and Steve felt as if he'd reached the end of a long journey and was where he was meant to be.

***

Bucky ran his finger down Steve's face, along his neck and bare shoulder and followed the contour of his body to his hip. They were lying naked together in Steve's bed, less than four hours after they had met in the park.

"I tried to find you," Steve said softly as Bucky continued to run his finger up and down Steve's body. "You don't have any online presence."

Bucky smiled wanly. "Yeah, I never got much into the whole social media thing. I had a Twitter for a little while but I didn't see the point. Kind of wish I'd had one if I knew it meant finding you again." He kissed Steve's lips.

"We're here now," Steve said and kissed the scar on Bucky's arm.

Bucky gently touched his fingers to the scar on Steve's chest. "Is...is this all magic? Does magic exist in the world for this to have happened?"

Steve shuffled closer to Bucky under the covers and kissed him again. "I don't know. I don't know how to explain what happened to us. I just know that right now, I've never been happier."

Bucky smiled. "Me too." He stared at Steve with those same blue eyes. "We're going to be alright, aren't we." It wasn't a question because Steve knew they would be too.

"Yeah, we are."

"I love you, Steve."

"I love you too."

They fell asleep wrapped in each other's arms and dreamed.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> This fic didn't quite turn out how I'd intended but hopefully it's still enjoyable!


End file.
